


Great Power Greater Responsibility

by Vennat



Series: Spider-Man: Homecoming (but better) [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Companion Piece, Hurt but no comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sad, With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility, heavy on the responsibility, self doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-09 21:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12896841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vennat/pseuds/Vennat
Summary: “I don’t know about the stuff that was going on behind the scenes but. I-I saw him bleed.” A pause, Peter held his breath. “I didn’t use to think he was truly a hero. Stopping a bus, sure, that’s impressive, but I didn’t think he was needed. Until today. Until I heard him screaming.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I’m posting this using my wonderful friend’s account. Because I’m a wimp who can’t create an account for myself. Anyways, this is my first fic, so I hope you like it!

    Peter did not think he was going out the night of the party.                      

    He thought he might lay on the couch with May, maybe finally dig the Monopoly game that they’d been working on for two years out from under the couch. He was winning the last time they played.  

    No, Peter had no idea that he would be absentmindedly browsing Twitter and see a video from the very same party that he was most definitely not going to go to. A video that happened to be a few of his classmates goofing around in a swimming pool and _would you look at that super rad purple flash that just exploded in the background? Dude this is so going viral._

    It was then that Peter donned his “pajamas” and went after whoever decided to blow up some of his city on a nice and quiet Friday night.

    At first, it seemed your typical illegal weapons deal, he’d dealt with plenty of them before, he just hoped that this time he wouldn’t have to stitch himself up in his bathroom with Aunt May calling that his food was going to get cold, and “Thai food doesn’t just make itself, you know.” He didn’t have to stitch himself up, but he _did_ have some majorly sore shoulders by the next day, coupled with an extremely nasty cold after he dragged himself out of the water. He’s just lucky his goggles started as actual goggles.

    Washington wasn’t a walk in the park either (also very sore shoulders.) It was nothing compared to the ferry though.

—————————————————

    Peter’d gotten on, prepared to fight the good fight, also prepared to maybe get hooked with the claws again but hey, go big or go home, right?

    Standing on the deck, he could feel his shoes start to slip around. Taking a stand against the villains was extremely difficult, especially when he could barely stand (Aunt May always did say he didn't do so good with water.)

    He did put up a good fight though, webbing them to the wall and keeping the boat mostly intact. Until the bird-man came.

    He had to admit, he felt a sense of satisfaction that he could save the FBI agents from harm. He just wished it caused less harm to him. Getting hit with the car, that _hurt_. It felt final, like it was supposed to be final. Like he was supposed to die when it hit him and he would've been knocked into the water and everything would be normal.

    Except that’s not what happened.

    Yes, he was hit; yes, he felt his collarbone bend and snap with the pressure; yes, he felt it as every single bit of air forcefully evacuated his lungs in one excruciatingly painful moment. But he woke up and saw the dark silhouette of those deadly wings in the sky. He felt himself be alive, and couldn’t help but feel disappointed that it wasn’t as final as it should've been.

    Getting hit with a car was supposed to kill you, just like a gunshot wound was supposed to kill you, just like a plane crash was supposed to kill you. It didn’t kill Peter though, and that meant he still had the responsibility to get up and fight.

    So he did.

    He ushered the other people towards the stairs and tried his best to bring the Vulture-man down from the sky so he would _stop shooting at people._ Swinging back and forth, near those too-sharp wings, Peter thought he would be cut, just like his webs were. But he wasn’t. Instead he got the gun, and webbed it onto the floor. He thought he did a good job, that it was something to be proud of -if only for a few seconds- and he would be able to pat himself on the back once his shoulder healed and say “Good job Peter, you saved some lives today.”

    The ferry being cut in half was a cruel reality check. He felt the wave of heat as it radiated past him with sparks and screams becoming soft in the background as a massive hum gave the final warning that the boat had been split irreparably. _It was too much._

    Peter felt his chest tighten as he looked down the deck at the yellow orange glow that is always left behind when metal is melted.

    Then he got to work. He started with the level he was on, frantically webbing until his arms ached and he felt like he couldn’t move, and then he would hear the terrified scream of another person and he would keep going because he had to.

    All of this was his fault, and he couldn’t let another person die because of his mistakes.

    So when he ran out of web fluid, he used bent bumpers, and when he couldn’t feel his arms anymore he wrapped the stray webs around his body and suspended himself between the two halves of the boat. He prayed that it would stay together long enough for someone to come. _Anyone to come._ But no one came, and he was left with his own razor sharp webs digging mini canyons into his skin while people stood hovering near the edges, gaping up at him with wide eyes and dust in their hair, because what else could they do? He was Spider-Man. This was his job. He had this. So what if they could see the odd way his ankle was bent? So what if they could hear his gasps while his bones creaked and muscles tore as he held an entire boat together? So what if they saw the very human blood that was starting to creep around the webs that bound him? He was Spider-Man. _This was his job._ Peter knew this all too well, dissociating from the pain after a while, he focused instead on a little girl of about five who was looking up at him with wide brown eyes.

    Her shirt was a pale pink, though Peter thought it had turned more brown. She was crying, now why would she do a thing like that?

_Oh_ , Peter thought, _oh, she’s crying because of me. That’s okay little girl, don’t cry, this is my job. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe. Don’t cry because of me,_ he thought, _I’m not worth it. Everyone says so._ That’s when he stopped. No. He was worth it, Uncle Ben thought so. Aunt May thought so. The fact that he didn’t think so was worrying, but not as worrying as the rescue and repair boats that were rapidly approaching.

    Commanding his body to move was the hardest thing Peter had done in a long while. It felt like every inch of him was on fire, throbbing with a heat he had never known. He felt this same heat behind his eyes as he peeled the webs off of his torso, recognizing that his suit looked more like thin spaghetti noodles, and dove into the crack between the halves of the boat and straight into the freezing water.

——————————————————

    The swim back was excruciating, Peter’s body almost refusing to move on the way back. He had to stop for periods at a time, floating on his back to catch his breath, fearing for that dreaded Vulture silhouette to appear in the sky to finish him off.

——————————————————

    The last time he had been swimming was when he was twelve, May and Ben taking him to the beach house that their cousin’s friend had left empty for a weekend.

    It was one of the best weekends of Peter’s life.

    He swam and built sand castles and did math equations in the sand. It was one of the few times in his life Peter didn’t have to look over his shoulder or slouch down to avoid being in the line of sight. He spent every meal sitting on the back porch with his family, insisting that “ _No really, I did see a lake monster that one time in fifth grade, I bet you a seashell.”_ Ben and May had just laughed and looked on fondly at their beautiful son and the wonderful smile he had.

——————————————————

    Their beautiful son now felt like he was drowning, which, to be fair, he was.

    Falling asleep while swimming is generally not a good idea, especially when one is injured and hungry and so so cold.

    He heard motors and tilted his head to see the rescue boats were heading back to shore, another ferry nearby to see what cars could be salvaged.

    Peter looked on, thinking, _I did that. I have to fix it. I have to make up for what I’ve done._ So he did. He commended himself to stop being pathetic. He was gosh darn Spider-Man. A SUPERHERO. He could manage one short swim.

——————————————————

    When he made it to shore, he quickly found a clothesline and picked out a pair of Hello Kitty pajama pants and an “I love NYC” t-shirt, the only articles of clothing that fit him and were dry.

    Putting them on was a struggle, he had to avoid his filleted skin, as well as limit movement to his arm and ankle.

    After this deed was done he made his way over to a trashcan. Looking down into it, he saw half a muffin, which he promptly took and stuffed into his mouth. Blueberry. His favorite.

    This was not the first time he had dumpster-dived. Usually, he was looking for electronics he could repurpose, but sometimes you had to do what you had to do, and at the end of the month, when money was tight and food was less, Peter had to make due. His time as a vigilante increased his appetite, and many times on the way home from a patrol he would stop and look for something to eat before he passed out. These were not his proudest moments, but they were necessary, and he felt _so_ much better afterwards.

    Shuffling his way to a main street where he could find a taxi, he was given some -odd looks. Granted, he was not the strangest looking on the street, but he was definitely up there.

    Peter hated this, being stared at, it reminded him that he still had a life outside of Spider-Man, he was still Peter Parker.  

    Unfortunately.

    Eventually, though, he found a taxi. The driver didn’t even look up from the road, just asked the distance and informed Peter of the total. This was the best thing that had happened to Peter all day.

    On the drive, Peter looked out the window at the blurs passing him by. He saw the condensation on the window and suddenly he was back in the water, hidden by the underbelly of the boat, wondering if he was ever going to find the surface. Knowing that drowning is extremely painful when you’re awake, and hoping he would pass out when it came to that.

    And then the taxi driver said something, and Peter glanced at him with tired eyes.

    “Kid, if you ain’t gonna pay we’re gonna have a major problem.” The driver said, glancing up in the mirror and startling at the old man’s eyes that bore back into him.

    Peter coughed, his throat making a gurgling noise before producing sound. “Yeah, just, just, gimme a sec.”

    He dug around in his boots, and found his emergency ten he kept wrapped in a plastic bag. He shook water from it, opened the bag, and handed the gruff taxi-man the bill.

    “Have a good day, sir.” Peter got out of the car and plodded up the stairs in his apartment building, ankle twinging with pain with every step he took, everything else twinging regardless.

    He made it up the stairs and to his room without incident, locking the door, stripping, and gingerly tucking himself under the covers as he violently shivered both from shock and the cold.

——————————————————

    Later, Peter isn’t sure how much later, he woke up to hear the news through the thin walls.

    “The masked vigilante who has been frequenting Queens for the past months was spotted today holding an entire ferry together in what can only be described as a wonderful act of heroism. The questions remain. Who is Spider-Man? Why has he chosen to don the mask? And is he really helping us, or will his ameture actions put countless citizens’ lives at risk? Tonight we have a man who was on the ferry, in very close proximity to our local arachnid. Tell me, what do you think of Spider-Man?”

    The news anchor fell silent and Peter strained his ears, shifting onto his back (ow) to hear better.

    “I don’t know about the stuff that was going on behind the scenes but. I-I saw him _bleed_.” A pause, Peter held his breath. “I didn’t use to think he was truly a hero. Stopping a bus, sure, that’s impressive, but I didn’t think he was _needed_. Until today. I could hear him screaming.” Peter swallowed painfully, his nose still burning from the smoke and the water he inhaled. “I could see him _bleeding_. He bled human blood. I’m not sure how I feel about him now, but… I don’t blame him for what happened today. I thank him for saving my life and the lives of everyone else.”

    Another pause. Peter was sure the news anchor was nodding her head sympathetically. “And, you know? He genuinely cared about us on the boat. And I think that’s what a hero should be.”

    Peter felt his eyes burn as he burrowed himself more deeply into the covers. His arms felt sticky with the cuts on his arms that were still healing, and his lungs ached with every breath he took.

    A hero? He wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t capable of saving himself, and he certainly shouldn’t be thanked for taking care of something that had been his fault to begin with. The man on the news was fooling himself if he thought Peter would be worth anything. He didn’t even have a workable suit now, he’d have to go rooting around for something that was even more low quality. At least his goggles had survived.

    He didn’t think he could handle anything like the first night he went out, with everything becoming too much which ended with him getting shanked by a robber who laughed acrid breath into Peter’s face.

_A hero?_ Peter thought as he closed his swollen eyes. _What kind of hero am I? They should blame me. I am an ameture, and I did put everyone at risk. If they think differently they’re fooling themselves. By the end of this year I’ll probably be squashed flat under some baddie’s plan gone wrong, and the world will be no different than if I never existed at all._

    These were the last thoughts Peter had before he slipped into turbulent dreams of sharp feathers and glowing eyes.


	2. You Can Do It, Spider-Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later, as Peter watched from above, he saw Stark’s men pick through the flaming mess of a beach and find his gift. His triumph. 
> 
> He won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished! Enjoy.

    The smell of patriotism and desperation hit Peter straight in the face as he slid down from the ceiling and dropped as silently as he could onto the rough cement floor of Toomes’ evil lair. Taking in the countless computer screens, all with detailed plans to steal Stark’s shipment of equipment, Peter realized he was extremely and totally out of his league. He knew that the moment he put on the mask, but now he was positive.

    Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try anyway.

    He caught Toomes tinkering at a table in an empty room, which wasn’t suspicious at all at the time, but Peter was _angry_ and _sad_ and he just wanted _everyone to be safe for once_.

    There was an odd buzzing in the air that made Peter uncomfortable, and a chalky taste was in his mouth that he hadn’t been able to get rid of since the threat Flash made about Homecoming.

 ———

    No one would have come with Peter to Homecoming (even if he did want to go.) No one would dare. Flash made an announcement that echoed through the hallways.

    “Anyone who wants to acquaint themselves with Penis Parker on Homecoming night will also be acquainting themselves with my fists. Homecoming is my night, understand?”

    Of course everyone understood. Flash Thompson was the king at Midtown. If he said jump, they asked how high? If he said ignore Peter Parker, they asked Peter Parker who?

    Yes, everyone understood. They understood very well. Too well.

    Peter was avoided like the plague (the chalky taste in his mouth formed and grew into something hateful) even cheaters in class gave him a wide berth, using mirrors and a startling amount of gymnastics to get clear pictures of his half-finished homework.

    It was not altogether different than what happened usually, but he wished he at least had a chance to say goodbye to _someone_ before coming here to his (probable) death, or at least extreme maiming.

 ———

    Toomes turned and greeted him like an old friend. “Spidey!” He threw his arms out wide from where they had been on the table. “Long time no fight. I saw the news. I’m impressed. You know, we’re more similar than you think.”

    Peter zoned out, focusing on a spot behind Toomes as he continued blathering on about looking out for the little guy and corporate power. He noticed that the ceiling had a leak, and his eyes traced a drop of water until it hit a stained spot on the floor, where a shallow puddle was gathering and spreading.

    The chalky taste in his mouth increased as he realized Toomes had stopped talking a good 30 seconds ago.

    Peter looked up from the puddle on the floor to find that Toomes was smiling at him, his face crinkling up in a way that reminded Peter of the Grinch in the Christmas special that he and his aunt would watch every year.

    He hadn’t said goodbye to her either, and he hated himself for it. He hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed when she found out it was him under the mask. He didn’t think she even knew he was gone. He could imagine her popping popcorn for him, because that was their tradition on “Peter Parker is a loser who has no friends” nights. They had those pretty often.

    Toomes snapped, “Spidey, hello? It’s rude to come all the way here and not pay attention when I’m monologuing. I thought you’d have a better sense of self preservation than that.”

    Peter smiled (grimaced) under the mask. “I guess you don’t know me very well then.”

    He spread his feet and crouched in his unofficial fighting stance that Aunt May said looked pretty stupid when she saw it on TV (she hadn’t made the connection that it was the stance Peter always took when they were about to have another battle over who would get the last piece of chicken.) “And you won't get the chance, either, you’re going away for a long time bird-man.”

    Toomes smirked. “I sincerely doubt that.” The buzzing increased and suddenly Peter was jumping out of the path of extremely _deadly_ and extremely _sharp_ wings.

    They swung in spirals and made sharp turns, clipping pillars along the way, showcasing their durability. Peter felt one of the feathers make a slight rip in his shirt and the reality hit Peter like a ton of concrete (dramatic irony anyone?)

    He was probably going to die and no one would know, and no one would find him because _why would Puny Parker be out fighting bad guys in sweats?_ His breathing came in short bursts and Toomes’ Grinch Grin increased in size.

    “Why are you smiling, man,” Peter wheezed, “You haven’t managed to hit me.”

    “True. But I wasn’t aiming for you.”

    Peter’s vision spotted as he saw the wings decimate another pillar. “Oh.”

    And suddenly he felt dust rain on him, then pebbles, then rocks, then boulders, until an entire cooling unit crashed down from the ceiling and Peter could barely feel it through the terrible feeling in his head that was brought on by such an extreme reaction from his Spidey-sense.

    He distantly heard Toomes laugh and take off as more rubble rained down.

 ———

    He felt fuzzy. And trapped. And it seemed as though he couldn’t take a breath without taking in more dust and blood into his lungs.

_Blood? Blood is not good. Why is there blood? Oh right. I have a building on top of me._

    Dulled panic draped over Peter’s senses like a blanket, and his wheezing increased.

    He was trapped under a building. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

    He waved his arm around his face trying to get his mask off so he could take a breath without his mask sticking to his face with the weight of wet plaster.

    When he managed to curl his (probably) broken fingers around the mask and rip it off he found himself in the gray-light of an air pocket, amid the wreckage of the warehouse.

    Oh- oh god. Air pocket. Running out of air. Breath heaving through his mouth, he was choking on dust, he couldn’t breathe.

    _Stop_. He could hear Uncle Ben’s voice in his ear. _Stop and breathe, Pete._

    But Peter couldn’t breathe, he was being crushed by tons of concrete and no one knew he was there and he would die alone, a failure. He could feel the tears, hot and wet, coursing down his cheeks. They cut a thin trail through the grime and blood on his face.

    He looked down at the mask in his hand, and it seemed to mock him. He was supposed to be a _hero_. Yet he fell when the city needed him most. Uncle Ben’s voice still echoed in his ears, ringing and piercing with a potent sentimentality.

    With great power, comes great responsibility. And it does. He feels that responsibility. For the city, for his aunt, for the death of his uncle. He can’t _stop_ feeling responsible.

    He looked down at the mask in his hands. He took a breath- he could feel the dust coating the inside of his mouth. He could feel the heavy stone crushing his back, a sharp piece of metal piercing into his side. He could feel drops of gritty water grinding themselves into his face, his throat.

    But he could also feel love for his city. He knew that if he didn’t get up, now, every person in that city would be in danger.

    Toomes would have a hold on the weapons that would kill innocent people, a hold on the weapons that already had killed innocent people (hello Sokovia) and Peter couldn’t let that happen.

    Maybe today’s heroes didn’t care. Maybe they thought it was beneath them to care about the little guy. But that’s what Peter’s job was, like the man on the news said, he cared and it was his job to care.

    He swallowed down the panic. He swallowed down the pain. He spit out the blood and grit and grime in his mouth. (The chalky taste remained.)

    “Up. Up, _get up_. Up!”

    For Ben.

    For May.

    For everyone he saved.

    For everyone he didn’t.

    “Come on, Peter.” He paused. No, Peter wasn’t enough and would never be enough. He screamed with a broken voice that had worn itself out calling for help.  
“Come on, _Spider-Man_!”

 ———

    Later, as Peter watched from above, he saw Stark’s men pick through the flaming mess of a beach and find his gift. His triumph.

    In the distance he could just make out the glowing outline of Stark tower. He hoped he did enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is, again, a prelude to Secret(ary) and my next chapter will be a kind of prologue to that, how it starts. I hope you liked this, and credit to the author of Secret(ary) for helping me out with this. If you liked this (or didn’t like it) please comment and leave feedback, so I can either fix something, improve, or gain motivation.  
> Thanks for reading and see you next chapter!


	3. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and May had always been able to depend on each other. Lately it was more difficult, but Peter tried, okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter for the holidays! I meant to get the scheduled chapter out before this, but life happened. So! I decided to write a little extra fluff between chapters. It was refreshing. Enjoy!

Peter woke up with a squint and a throb of pain that shook his entire body.

 

It was Saturday.

 

The day after Homecoming.

 

The day after he almost die-

 

Aunt May called him for pancakes, breaking him out of his dark and frankly unpleasant thoughts. Naturally, Peter couldn’t refuse, her pancakes were the best (the only thing she could actually cook without burning) and he needed to load up on the calories anyway. 

 

He shifted himself and felt his cracked ribs twinge and his (probably) broken everything screamed at him  _ no! Don’t move! You’ll make it worse!  _ But Peter had to make it worse. If only for Aunt May. She called again as Peter stood and immediately hunched over, hissing out a breath. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Just gimme a sec to use the bathroom.” He shuffled as quickly as he could across the hallway and shut the door. 

 

There hadn’t been any arrest warrants on the news so he assumed he was safe from a search from Stark. Peter didn’t think he’d be able to deal with that anyway.

_ Ouch, _ he thought as he looked in the mirror.  _ I look terrible.  _ And he did. His eyes were black and his hands were cut and bruised. He lifted his sweater and immediately yanked it back down. He wouldn’t be able to look at that and still be able to eat.

 

Splashing some cold water on his face, Peter stood up as straight as he could and shuffled to the kitchen. He might as well get it over with. 

\----  
  


Sitting down at their banged up kitchen table was painful, but Peter’s heart broke when May looked at him and her face collapsed with worry and disappointment.

 

“Pete? What on earth happened to you, baby?” May slid over to him and cupped his face gently in her hands. 

 

Peter leaned his face into her warm hand and sighed, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I borrowed a classmates car last night. You know, cause he was at Homecoming. I just, I know you don’t have time to teach me how to drive, and I want to be able to drive you places. You deserve that. So I took the car, and I drove it around, not a bunch, just for twenty minutes or so. When I got back though, he wasn’t very happy that I took it and…” He gestured to his face, pretending that his arm didn’t feel like it was on fire with every twinge his muscles made. His heart was on fire now too, he  _ hated _ lying to May. Hated it _ so much. _

 

She clicked her tongue and brought her other hand up to his face. “Peter, you know you can’t do that, no matter how morally obligated you feel. Stealing is wrong. You can’t do that. Ever.” Her tone softened from the sharp blade that it was. “But I think you’ve learned your lesson.” She shoved a plate of banana pancakes over to him. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”

 

Peter’s throat clogged with relief and he pulled the plate towards him, slowly eating as his hand shook. 

 

May didn’t notice, and he was glad she didn’t, she was busy in her own plate.

 

Peter looked across at her with sad eyes and was reminded why he was a hero. For her. He needed to protect her. He needed to keep the wonderful woman who raised him safe, no matter what the cost.

  
  


She looked up and snorted.

 

“What?”

 

“Your face.” She said, smiling. “You look so serious for a boy who has syrup smeared all over his lip.”

 

Peter ducked his head and grinned (what split lip?) “I’m saving it for later.”

 

“Mhm, just like you saved that peanut butter for later. How’d you even get peanut butter behind your ear anyway?” She drew her arms forward and her eyes crinkled in a way Peter could only associate with May. 

 

He shrugged, slowly leaning back on his chair and chewing on his lip absentmindedly. “I must’ve had some great foresight, considering you almost burned this place down trying to make… what was it? Spaghetti?”

 

May tapped him with her slipper-clad toe. “Hey! How was I supposed to know that you can burn spaghetti noodles?” 

  
  


In reality Flash had shoved his sandwich into his hair in retaliation, for simply existing, Peter guesses. May doesn’t need to know that though.

  
  


Peter wiped the syrup from his face and promptly deposited it onto May’s robe. He smirked and then realized it probably wasn’t a good idea to take on his aunt when he could barely move. Too late. 

 

May was one of the most over-the-top people Peter knew, so,  _ naturally _ once Peter wiped the syrup on her she smartly opened the bottle and dumped what was left onto Peter’s bed head. (It wasn’t a very large amount, she wouldn’t waste that much syrup, but it was enough that she could jump across the table and smear it into Peter’s scalp, coating his entire head in sugary goodness.) 

 

He screeched and took a glob from his hair and rubbed it from her forehead to her hairline. 

 

She had murder in her eyes.

“ _ Peter. Benjamin. Parker.  _ You, are  _ so  _ dead.”

 

She lunged around the table, tickling his stomach and pinching at his sides. His laughter bubbled out of him, delight and happiness overcoming the pain of aggravated bruises. 

 

May pulled away to allow him to regain his breath, and it only took a moment for Peter to notice the relief in her eyes. He knew, in that same moment, that as much as it hurt him to do so, he would tell a thousand lies; hide a thousand injuries; bleed onto burning sand, alone, terrified. He would do  _ anything  _ to keep his aunt safe and happy. 

 

He picked up a bottle of whipped cream from the table. A smile lit across May’s face, and she ran back towards her end of the table for ammunition, laughing the whole way. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little break of fluff that I loved writing. The dynamic between Peter and May is so great, and I loved writing about it. Comments are appreciated, and I hope this mini chapter was okay! One more to go.


	4. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter was just so tired... So what if he used his idol's lobby to take a nap?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter and part two of the holiday update! This is a direct prelude to I've Got a Secret(ary), so if you aren't interested in reading it, you don't need to read this. Enjoy!

The day had started out as normally as any day would. May wished him a good day at school and pressed a kiss onto his forehead. He boarded to school, only falling off once at the sharp turn that bridged a main street and his school's road. He even managed to dodge Flash, pressing himself to the wall and managing to not get called on during class.

Yes, everything was going a-okay until gym. The oh-so-dreaded required class. The class where Flash had determined Peter was (enemy number one, to be brought in dead or alive, premium reward) his target. 

It started with the standard sock going missing, which was fine, Peter brought extra. Then was the haggling. The wonderful "Useless Parker" or being picked last, or Peter's personal favorite: "Hey Parker, why don't you bring that aunt of yours over and coach'll show her what a real man is?" What got Peter this time was being dragged into the showers and pushed under the alternating temperatures of freezing or boiling.

Peter didn't have the best track record with water, especially water he could not avoid. Especially this water. 

When the door was opened Peter spilled out gasping and heaving to find the locker room deserted, his belongings strewn across the floor, and a new array of cracks in his phone screen. He got dressed and immediately scrambled out of school, shaking and giving zero thought to where he was going.

Zero thought led him to Stark (He thought it was Stark, but the mess with Captain America being a war criminal might've changed things, Peter wouldn't know.) tower. He pushed open the doors, which slid in with little resistance (as expensive doors tend to do, not that Peter had much experience with  _those._ ) He stepped into the lobby, where he was greeted with a shouting woman, a lobby full of people, and a thoroughly disgruntled secretary. He was thankful for the woman _"My son has been kidnapped by those alien hooligans and it is all Stark's fault!"_ She made it easier to sink down on one of the soft leather couches unnoticed and put his headphones in, turning the volume on his white noise all the way up and closing his eyes. 

He felt unclean, though, everything was in its place, with smooth, bright surfaces to match the couch Peter had chosen to be his refuge.

Aunt May didn't expect him home until later, however, he told her he was going to go to the park to do homework. Which wasn't a lie at the time. Peter didn't think he would be kicked out of the lobby, either. After all, Tony Stark was supposed to be a hero, and the secretary looked plenty busy. Busy enough not to notice a wet-haired teenager with dark circles under his eyes.  _Who most definitely did not belong there._

 

Hours passed and Peter was fitfully asleep on the couch, undisturbed and unnoticed due to the constant stream of New Yorkers asking for compensation or donation or whatever else they could think of. The secretary only noticed Peter when it was time for her to close the lobby, she had pushed her frayed blond hair out of her face and done a last scan of the sitting area, only finding the crumpled form of Peter occupying the couch in the corner, which was the easiest to miss.

"Jesus will these homeless people ever stop trying to get in here?" She rubbed the bridge of her nose and clacked over to where Peter was slumped, heels making extra noise now that the clamor of the busy hours was over. "A kid?" Bending over him, she took a good look at his face. How young it was. How old he looked.

Her forehead creased.  _I see him rush by almost every day on his skateboard. Why'd he come in here now?_

Plucking an earbud out of his ear and placing a warm hand on his shoulder, she whisper-breathed. "Hey, sweetie, it's time to go home, okay?"

 

Peter awoke thinking he was being attacked by the kindest super-villain he'd ever faced, only to remember that he was Peter Parker. Mr. Normal. Mr. Nobody. And he had nothing to worry about.

 

He licked his lips, "How long have I been here?"

She pursed her lips and the wrinkle in her forehead became the Grand Canyon of forehead wrinkles. "Sweetie, it's 6:00."

Peter's forehead wrinkle matched her own. "Oh," he breathed. "My aunt's gonna kill me." He launched himself into action, stuffing his earbuds and phone into his pocket, and throwing his backpack onto his back. His skateboard was haphazardly tossed onto the ground by his feet.

"I appreciate you letting me stay here, that was very nice of you, ma'am." He gave her his thousand watt smile, and she noticed his hair was damp. But then he was gone, and she was left staring out the doors after him, wondering about the kid who always seemed to be in a rush to be somewhere.

She called the front desk upstairs, manned by no one other than Pepper Potts.

"Ms. Potts, what's our policy for kids who come into the lobby to sleep?"

Pepper pulled up the security feeds from the lobby throughout the day (she did  _not_ envy the secretary's position in the crowds) and saw Peter there.

"It depends. Was this his first time? Did he cause any destruction?"

"Yes and no. This was his first time, and I don't think he caused any destruction on purpose." There was a pause. "He did leave a wet spot on the floor though.' Another pause. "I see him pass by all the time, I think this was the first time he even stepped past the doors."

Pepper hummed, crossing her legs under the desk and leaning forward to get a better look at his face. "Did you get a name?"

"No ma'am." The secretary sounded sheepish.

"Alright, if he comes in again just let him be, and have a good night, okay?" Pepper hung up and hummed again. 

 

"FRIDAY? Run facial recognition for me please."

FRIDAY responded a few seconds later "Peter Parker. Student at Midtown High."

_I wonder what Tony would think of him_ , she thought, scrolling through Peter's records.  _Reminds me of  what he was like at that age._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Fun times. Thank you so much, all of you, who read this. Especially those who commented. It means so much to me that you enjoyed and/or took the time to read. Again, this chapter is in direct relation with Secret(ary) so if you thought the ending was a bit abrupt, that's why. Secret(ary) will be coming out with a new update Tuesday/Wednesday.

**Author's Note:**

> This was really fun to write, and I got so much help. I’m hopefully going to be writing another soon, if I can find the time and keep the motivation. So... thanks for reading, I really appreciate it.


End file.
